Halo: Levosia uprising
by James Connoct
Summary: After Reach, all Spartans were presumed MIA. Dead. And that, for the most part was true. except for the covert ops Gold Team. They will never be known. They will never be thanked. But they WILL save humanity.


LEVOSIA

PROLOGUE

/encrypted/EYES ONLY/

Subject: Colonel A. Higgens sending:

UNITED NATIONS SPACE COMMAND: TRANSMISSION 56426K-18

ENCRYPTION CODE: RED

PUBLIC KEY: FILE/ NOVEMBER NINER NINER KILO

FROM: COLONEL A. HIGGENS, COMMANDING OFFICER, UNSC RAIN OF FIRE (UNSC SERVICE NUMNER: 8647-87624-AH

SUBJECT: INNSURECTIONISTS ON LEVOSIA

CLASSIFICATION: EYES-ONLY (RND DIRECTIVE)

First lieutenant Jacob Henry,

Your actions in the past have been both noticeable and brave. Although your current ship, UNSC Frigate _Firestorm, _has only been refueling on Levosia, we have need of your immediate cooperation for help with unforeseen complications. Although one of the outer planets, and not essential to our (the human race as a whole) cause, the Covenant seem to have been drawn to this particular planet. ONI spooks and myself have good reason to believe the insurrectionists and the Covenant may be working together. The Covenant has something the Innies want, and vice versa. The marine carrying this message to you can be trusted, and has fought in many covenant engagements. He has been demoted five different times for improper actions against UNSC commanders. He is to be restored, ASAP, to a master sergeant rank on my orders. I will send more troops when available, but unfortunately, that may be a long time. However, this is not the only reason for my interruption of your current objective, which is to Rendezvous on Earth with remaining forces. I must now stray from bad news to worse. Reach has been destroyed-completely obliterated, with no survivors. There are only two other Spartans I know of who have survived. John 117, Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, and Petty Officer Second Class Kelly-Spartan 087. Both Spartans are currently aboard the UNSC warship, Halcyon Class, Pillar of Autumn. Spartan 087's condition is dangerous. Other than you and your team, they are the only ones still alive. I'm sorry.

/End transmission/

CHAPTER ONE

First Lieutenant Jacob Henry, or simply Jake, had read the report without a change in expression of his face. As far as PFC Brantley could tell, he was completely unaffected. But then again, he was a simple marine. Lieutenant Henry, however, was a Spartan. Brantley had not, of course, read the report; but he knew it came from the top, the brass. He also knew it was classified, and if he read it he could have gotten killed. The marine shifted in his armor, wanting to get out of the small lean-to ASAP. The Spartan looked up, raising one eyebrow at the marine.

"At ease, Private. You look like you're about to fall over." The marine immediately shifted his position as the Spartan stood. A full 6 feet and 11 inches tall, the Spartan towered over the PFC. The marine involuntarily took one step backwards, matte black armor clanking against the helmet he held in the hand hanging next to his side. Brantley felt old panic systems kicking in, and he wished he had the solid mass of his M6D sidearm to grip. The Lieutenant shook his head slowly, rubbed his eyes.

"Private, this is our first meeting, and I get the feeling that you don't like me. Since you are effectively all that's left of a marine unit, except for a few other privates who are in the medical bay of the _Firestorm_, we have to work on that. I have heard that you were demoted because of insubordinate actions. So, tell me. Are we going to have the same disagreement? Because the last time people like you were with my unit, they didn't like me either. Why? Because I'm a Spartan. So, tell me truthfully: Why do you look angry?"

Brantley stumbled backwards at the last remark, stunned. His head hung and he looked at the ground like he had something to prove to it. Then his head slowly came up. "Sir. I think the Spartan program was grossly misused, overprioritized and over marketed. Its products, yourself included, I will tell you now: Are freaks. The fact that you're seven feet tall, and have the strength to lift a warthog, is proof, SIR!" The Spartan cocked his head, and blinked. "You're honest. You don't like me, but you're honest. That's one of the things I value. Now, moving on. In this report, Colonel Higgens said you were to be promoted. The rest of the two-oh-first will be arriving soon. I want you to gather up the rest of your men, and get presentable Dismissed, Master Sergeant."

Brantley stared for one moment, before snapping to attention, saluting, and hurrying out, armor clanking in his haste.

Spartan 119 Jake watched the Marine as he left, and took a seat, taking in his surroundings. He was in a lean-to made of many stakes standing upright in the sand, tarp making up the roof. His only furniture was a small desk and a wheeled chair. In one corner, the one closest to him, stood a large storage container, upon the top of which was a MA37 assault rifle. Slowly, Jake shook his head, and rested his head on the table. He had contained his emotions when the marine had been there, but now he was quite literally by himself. "Dead…" he muttered. It was impossible to think of the rest of them as dead. He had grown up with them, from age six, until he was fourteen. Now they were gone, ripped from him. Loss howled in his soul, and he knew not how to calm it. After three long minutes of gritting is teeth so hard they hurt, he lifted his head up, and stood. The light in the lean-to was supplied by one electric lamp, which he turned off. His physical augmentation had made him able to see in the dark, so he rummaged around for his sleeping bag. Finally, it was night time, and he could get some well-earned rest.

_The Spartan had troubled dreams. How had he gotten here? Why? Memories came back._

_Chief Mendez. His face flashed through. Spartan instructor. John 117. Squad leader and friend. Dr. Halsey, the mother. Fighting on Reach against insurrectionists before leaving to Levosia. The covenant. They had to be stopped. No cost. Blank check. And finally, only darkness._

_The blackness cleared before him, and Jake stood in a small circular room. In front of him was a suit of armor. Not the standard issue combat armor, or even special issue ODST matte black extra protection armor, but Spartan armor. MLJONIR. It towered on its pedestal, held loosely by straps to a rack. It had a shiny reflective finish to it, olive green that sparkled in the large overhead light. The helmet offered a blazing gold finish to the visor, making the man that put it on a faceless titan, invulnerable. Jake stepped forward, and reached for the helmet. _

_"Wait." Called a voice, and Jake turned to see Doctor Halsey. Nearby was a bed, surrounded by needles full of liquids, and straps were on the bed to hold down the patient on it. Jake looked at it, and then back at Halsey. Her voice, smooth and clear echoed in the empty room. "You have been called upon to serve. You will become the defender of Earth, and all her colonies. The best we can make you." Jake shook his head, and tried to clear his brain. Halsey had never said that to him during his augmentation. Or had she? Chief instructor Mendez walked into his vision, although there were no visible doors. "Spartan. This is the moment you live or die in training. Of all my tests, this will be the hardest. Your objective is to survive. Take a seat." He gestured towards the bed. Jake nodded, and laid down on it. Chief Mendez strapped the leather restrainers down over his arms, legs, and body. "Survive." He said, and then began to walk to a control panel nearby. The needles moved closer, and punctured his skin. Everywhere, he felt pain from the needles. They were in his head, his body, his arms, legs, everywhere. The restrainers that held him down buckled, and Jake began to cry out in pain. Slowly, darkness began to close in on his vision.  
When he woke, the pain had gone, and was now only a dull throbbing. The needles and the restrainers were gone, and he rested in a bed. Halsey appeared in front of him. "Congratulations, Jacob. You've passed the test. You're a Spartan." But all around him, his fellow friends, fellow soldiers, had not passed the test. Many were in wheel chairs, their bodies strangely disfigured. On some, their abdomens or arms were larger than their legs, or their fingers were melded together to form a claw instead of a hand. As he watched, they were being wheeled out, until John stopped them. "Wait! Where are you taking my men?" he asked. Mendez looked at him. "There are times in life when you must trade lives for a greater cause." John thought about it for a couple seconds, and then nodded. "Yes sir. Proceed." He pointed one last salute at the Spartans who had not passed the "test". They raised their hands as well, and soon they were gone. Jake stepped out of bed, and realized he was different. He was taller, stronger, and gravity seemed to move slowly. He dropped a nearby pin, and it fell slowly, too slow. "Physical augmentations…" he muttered to himself. Mist enveloped the scene, and cleared to reveal a battlefield. Jake held a MA37 Assault rifle, pointed towards a couple of covenant. Jake realized that since he was wearing the MLJONIR armor, and the existence of the covenant was known, at least five years must have passed. The two elites that stood before him regarded him with plasma rifles raised. Jake pulled the trigger, and watched as the fire hardened bullets punched through the first elite's personal head shielding. The slugs then proceeded to effortlessly pierce the blue armor, and enter the alien's brain. Brains, blood, and bullets exited through the back of the elite's head. Purple liquid sprayed from the body and onto Jake's green armor as the elite fell onto the cracked yellow ground, armor tinted a sickly purple. Two plasma bolts caught the Spartan in the chest as the second elite fired, knocking him backwards and blowing all breath from him. The elite jumped forward, straddled Jake, and began to bludgeon him with the butt of the plasma rifle. Jake felt as well as saw his shields give way on his HUD, and watched as electricity short circuited the armor. Before his shields recharged, Jake realized, he would be dead. Jake snarled, and caught the elite's hand as it traveled down. Then he smoothly turned it three hundred and sixty degrees, hearing bones crunch and the elite roar. The Spartan followed up with an uppercut of his own, and two stomach jabs. With his augmented strength, it shattered the alien's shield, leaving Jake free to knee the elite, and draw his sidearm, which he stuck into the elite's neck, and fired once. "That's going to leave a mark." Jake muttered. His armor looked like hell, he knew, but he also knew that it was only because of the elite's blood, not his. And that was all that mattered. But last, the mist condensed and cleared to reveal an elite standing over a dead Spartan's body. Jake glanced at his HUD, his shields were completely drained, his visor was cracked, and he armor was crumpled in some places from what he knew was an intense battle from the corpses of aliens scattered throughout. The elite laughed, lifted his arm, and fired once. Blue plasma crackled into him, melted through a gap in his chest armor, and Jake crumpled over into the ground. _

Jake woke up sitting upright, breathing hard with his hand clutched over his chest. Slowly, he looked around the room, and squeezed his eyes shut for a couple seconds, drawing in air slowly. When he exhaled, he opened his eyes once again. The Spartan remembered that last scene from his dream. It had occurred during a battle on Jericho VII, during the last three days of brutal fighting. Gold Team, Which Jake had been leading, had previously been slowly killing off covenant in areas, assassinating their leaders or large task forces. Their operations had been completely dark. On the day that the colonel they had been operating on told them that they were losing the battle for Jericho, and to pull out, the Spartans had been chased as they ran for the evac. An entire task force of elites, grunts, and jackals had ambushed them, led by the zealot. Savannah, Jake's tech specialist, had fallen behind, and Brendon, Jake's second in command, had gotten killed. He'd died first, trying to fight off a golden armored zealot. However, the zealot had simply snapped his neck in the first couple seconds, and shot Jake.

Fortunately, the plasma blot had gone through his upper chest cavity, and while still endangering, proved non-fatal. After he had fallen, He had barely seen his other squad member, Savannah, stab the elite between the ribs. When he had woken up, he was butt-naked in a cryotube with a plasma burn through his chest, and some crewmen staring at him. The story Savannah told him had been crazy; the _Firestorm _had sent an evac team which had rescued the team shortly after Jacob's fall. The pilot had simply gotten a sniper to shoot the elite, and then the falcon opened up with its 50 millimeter machine guns as it dropped down to retrieve the team. Jake had been bleeding badly, but the marines aboard had applied a quick sealant to stop the bleeding. Then, he had been shipped through to the hanger, where he was moved into the cry section of the ship. Shaking his head, the Spartan realized that he was wide awake, and that it was probably about 2 AM, which was when he woke up by habit. Swinging out of bed, the Spartan landed softly on the ground. He was in his black bodysuit, his skin only exposed at the top of his neck, head, feet, and hands. Twisting in a full range of motion, Jacob grabbed his M6D magnum from the desk nearby. This he clipped onto the high-power magnet on his right thigh, for easy use. He was uncomfortable without his armor on, and felt slightly naked, but he threw aside the flap of the lean-to he was in anyways.

The world was still dark in night, shrouded in black, but Jake could see well enough to know that there were people other than himself up and awake. Marines walked around in the dark, armor clanking, and voices whispering. Other tents or lean-to structures like his were dotted everywhere, and Jake could smell smoke and food. A fire burned brightly in one place, the middle of the tents and lean-to camp. Only seven figures were huddled around it, and only one of those seven could stand. The rest were lying limply by it. _Brantley and the other surviving marines. Fires are against regulation, true, but they're also good for morale. Besides, this place needs the warmth. _Jake simply walked past them, looking for the other people who were awake. Soft steps came from behind him, and Jake turned. "Morning, Sav." He said wearily. "Sir?" asked a voice to his front. Jake nodded once. "Cut it, we're not being monitored by UNSC spooks. Talk like we're civvies." He said, notes of sardonic humor showing through his voice.

"If you say so." Shrugging, the figure asked "What crawled up your butt and died?" Jake raised an eyebrow. "Great. People insulting my good grace, just what I need in the morning after having a bunch of bad reruns of my life." White teeth flashed in the dark. "It usually works. Anyways, while you were having your beauty sleep, I was up accomplishing things." Jake sighed. "Yes, I know. I heard you go charging through the camp like a one-legged kick dancer and crash into the makeshift firing course. Your suppressors are horrible."

"Gee, thanks." Jake shrugged. "Only telling the truth. But since you've been up accomplishing things, any idea when he 202nd infantry unit is gonna be here?" The tech specialist shrugged in return. "No idea, Jake. You know the _Firestorm _is more than just a couple kilos away." Jake nodded. The frigate was, in fact, one hundred and twenty kilometers away, and although it could send falcons to the site, was making repairs from past battles. "Fair enough. Do we have any vehicles or marines battle ready, other than Brantley?" She nodded once.

"The former, yes, if you can classify an extremely battle-scarred falcon as a vehicle. The latter, no. The other eight marines are badly injured, and we're bone dry on ammo for the gun on the 'hog and almost out of ammo for the assault rifles and pistols. Also, we have about two grenades left. Nearest city is on the other side of the planet, away from the sun side. Basically, we're stuck with this picture until the _Firestorm _sends evac." Jake shook his head. "Great. Supplies, food, medical kits?"

"Nadda." Clenching his teeth, Jake asked, "Communications? Radios? Flares?" once again, the tech officer shook her head again. "Great. Are they even aware we're here? Or did our signal short out, because last I checked, my subdermals still emit my location." Savannah rolled her eyes. "Easy there. They know we're here, but it'll take a while for them to evac us and br-"

"We don't HAVE a little while. Infections are probably on most of those ODST, and I really don't think that I want to let them fester. I'm taking the warthog, and I _will _get to the _Firestorm_ and ask for help." Savannah sighed deeply. "Protocol requires we don't reveal our location before we know our location is secure, which is a minimum of two weeks."

"Well _protocol _can go jump in a hole and die for all I care; the Innies are on the other side of the planet, we'll probably die of suffocation and dehydration before the week is out, and we've only been here for two days. Protocol or not, I'm getting supplies." Jake gestured at the desert reaching as far as the eye could see. The planet was only cool in the morning, but after that it was a sweltering heat furnace. "Alright. I'm coming with you." The tech's voice was cool, and decided. "The marines can take care of themselves, best advisable course of action is leaving today, and right now." Jake nodded. "I'll tell Brantley. Let's suit up and leave." Nodding back, both walked away. Jake squatted near the campfire, and whispered into the marine's ear.

"We're leaving to get supplies. Hold down the fort." Brantley stiffened. "Fine." He bit off the word as if it offended him. Jake then walked into his compound, and opened up the locker. Inside it, a suit gleamed. Myriad reflections shined off the huge suit of armor that stood in front of him. "MOLJONIR." Named after the legendary hammer of the god Thor, this suit of armor could be just as destructive. A shining silver faceplate looked down at Jake. Slowly, the Spartan removed his BDU's and put on the tight black suit that the armor slipped down over.

Fifteen minutes later, the Spartan stood encased in his armor. The familiar weight rested on his shoulders, and the only thing left to put on was his helmet. Slowly, he reached forward, and grabbed it, held it in his hands as he observed it. The faceplate looked like a snub-nosed "Y", the Mark V variant of MJOLNIR's tests. Jake smiled grimly as he slid it on, and grabbed the MA37 customized assault rifle. Slamming a clip into it, Jake clicked the safe button, and watched as his targeting reticle appeared when his hand made contact with the rifle. "Been a while." He muttered to himself. His own personal AR was taken from the basic systems of a MA37, but modified to have the accuracy of the prototype MA5C and the clip of an MA5B. Combined, the Spartan felt like the Grim Reaper himself, and 119 trusted his weapon almost as much as he trusted his squad. _People can talk down about the AR line as much as they want. But this will always be my weapon of choice. _With that, the Spartan walked out the door. His HUD monitored the outside temperature, registered any sound or sight differences, and his motion sensor swept the area to locate Sav. She turned out to have been right beside him, and he shook his head as he wondered how she was so stealthy. "Ah, toting the inaccurate spray-n-pray?" She asked. Jake eyed her, green HUD display telling him her number and iformation. "Ah, toting the one-bullet-per-ten seconds diastater?" If he could see her under her armor, Jake knew the techie would be looking defensive as she cradled her DMR closer to her side. "Shut up and drive." she snapped as the duo came up in front of a badly scarred warthog. Jake recoiled a couple steps. "I was joking, Sav. Take it less seriously." However, he quickly jumped into the warthog, and intertwined his suit's system with the Falcon's by holding his hand over the scanning system that was ingrained in the dash. The machine rumbled to life, belching smoke from its tail pipe, and even the wings. "That's not supposed to happen..." he muttered, and pulled up a damage display of the vehicle. "Bloody...!" he exclaimed as it showed the falcon covered in yellow, orange, and red. "When you said that this was supposed to be damaged from the last innie fight, you didn't say it was liable to explode."

"Hah. just fly it, Lieutenant. Maybe you'll finally get over your crash-and-burn excersize that we had back in Mendez's training..."


End file.
